Even when I was safely ensconced in Celia’s office, I still remained ignorant of the situation James was in. After twenty minutes of reassuring my best friend—who blamed herself entirely for not telling me the full extent of the rumours—I managed to calm her down sufficiently to find out the details of the crisis now unfolding across Washington and New York.
‘James has been accused of being in cahoots with Mrs Elizabeth Darnek, wife of well-respected Senator John Darnek. They’re saying James was her lover.’
I groaned but Celia held up a hand.
‘There’s more?’
‘There’s much more, I’m afraid.’
I folded my arms and prepared myself for the gory details.
‘Senator Darnek was one of only three senior congressmen trusted to advise the President on possible lucrative building contracts in the Middle East. It was felt that certain Arab states would be agreeable to the US placing significant sums of money into mutually beneficial developments, in return for open talks to resolve conflicts in the area. These politicians were handpicked by the President to suggest developments that matched the criteria, giving them unprecedented power of attorney over the process.’
‘I don’t understand what this has to do with James.’
‘FRS Construction, one of the companies James represents, is a multimillion-dollar building corporation, which has recently faced scrutiny for alleged arms deals in return for exclusive building contracts across Africa and Asia. This has yet to be proved, of course, but in politics suggestion is often more persuasive than the truth. His affair with Mrs Darnek has been common knowledge amongst the hacks on Capitol Hill for several months—never reported, but understood within the journalistic fraternity as gospel. So when the President’s Development and Progress Committee suddenly identified FRS Construction as the best contractor to undertake the chosen Arab-US development, reporters in Washington smelled a rat. The long and short of it is that someone alerted a senator opposed to the initiative; he lodged a complaint with Congress and the story broke at around 9 a.m. today.’
The news hit me like a thunderbolt, throwing my mind into chaos as I tried to make sense of what I’d just heard. I was angry that James could be so stupid; frustrated that, true to form, he had created a mess he couldn’t get out of alone; incensed that I didn’t pick up on the signs…Then I remembered his whispered phone conversation in my apartment, months ago—and suddenly everything made sense.
‘I think he tried to stop it,’ I said, as the memory returned in full colour.
‘What? How?’
‘When he came to visit, in the autumn. I overheard a call he was making, saying he wanted out of whatever situation he was referring to.’
‘Well, I hope for his sake that he manages to express that publicly,’ Celia replied, her face grave and anxious, ‘because he’s about to be thrown to the lions here.’
‘What about the woman?’
She grimaced. ‘Elizabeth Darnek has been a politician’s wife for too many years to let this bring her down. She’s already issued a statement unreservedly apologising to Congress and her husband, blaming James entirely. She claims he sought an affair with her purely for the influence she could assert over her husband. Add to that Washington’s desire to draw attention away from the Senator’s misdemeanours, plus the clichéd image of the evil Englishman, and James is ripe for vilification.’
‘I need to call him.’
‘I would imagine his cell is well and truly unobtainable by now, honey.’
‘Then I’ll try his personal number. Maybe the press won’t have found it yet.’
Celia walked to the door. ‘Then I’ll leave you in peace. Coffee?’
‘Yes, please—and thanks for everything.’
‘You are entirely welcome. Make the call.’
Taking a few deep breaths to calm myself down, I quickly found James’s number. After five rings, a muffled voice answered.
‘Yes?’
‘James—is that you? It’s Rosie.’
There was a pause on the line. ‘Rosie? How great to hear you. It’s Hugh. Hugh Jefferson-Jones—do you remember me?’
I smiled despite the growing nervous nausea in my stomach. Knowing James was not alone—and with the infamous Huge Jefferson-Jones, of all people—lifted my spirits considerably. ‘Of course I remember you, Hugh. Hello again.’
‘Great bit in the NYT about you, by the way,’ Huge’s booming voice sounded almost jovial in stark contrast to the severity of the current situation.
‘Thanks. Is James with you?’
‘Yes—yes he is. I’m trying to work things out my end. With the Consulate, I mean.’
‘Could he be indicted?’
I heard a long sigh as Huge picked his words with extreme care. ‘It’s possible. But we have to hope that, once the initial media frenzy dissipates, the situation can be considered rationally and objectively.’
‘And until then? I’ve seen scandals like this, Hugh. They can go on for months.’
‘Quite true. But we must hope this one fades sooner. For now, however, James will stay with me, as a guest of Her Majesty’s Consulate-General. I am pushing for political asylum, with the offer of him facing trial back in the UK, should it be necessary.’
‘Be honest with me, Hugh. Is James likely to go to prison for this?’
‘The indicators at this stage are that it’s possible a civil suit could be brought against him. As he isn’t a US citizen, it’s unlikely he’ll face a gaol term. For now, I’m advising him to lie low whilst I negotiate.’
‘Can I do anything?’
‘Just sit tight, Rosie. And pray it doesn’t come to prosecution.’
Right on cue as I ended the call, Celia appeared with coffee. I explained to her what Hugh had told me, watching her expression for any suggestion of her own opinion.
‘I think your brother’s saving grace is that no contracts were awarded—the FRS recommendation was merely theoretical at the time it was revealed. Had it been signed and sealed, James would be facing a far more serious situation than he is right now.’
‘How did the media make the connection between me and James?’
‘It wasn’t me, I swear. But I’d hazard a guess that someone you know alerted them to your association.’
‘Mimi?’
‘Possibly. Or maybe even Philippe?’
That didn’t seem likely, especially given as he was now restored to ‘flavour of the month’ with Mimi. Perhaps I was wrong, but despite his obvious abhorrence of me, I couldn’t quite believe that he’d alert the national press to my association with James. I didn’t even think he knew I had a brother, let alone that said brother was an adulterous, scheming idiot.
I rubbed a weary hand over my aching eyes. ‘I don’t know, Celia, every time I think life is going well it seems to jump up and bite me again.’
Celia offered a sympathetic smile and patted my hand. ‘That’s just life, honey. You should be used to crushing disappointment by now.’
Knowing the paparazzi were camped outside my apartment building, I couldn’t go home, which was frustrating. Celia gave me the keys to her apartment and I headed over there as soon as I could. Later that afternoon, Marnie called me.
‘Rosie, how are you? We’ve been so worried about you.’
‘I’m fine, honestly, just frustrated I can’t get home.’
‘How long do you think this is going to last?’
I looked out of the window to the street below. ‘I’ve no idea. This is so ridiculous, Marnie. I need to be at Kowalski’s, not holed up in my best friend’s apartment.’
‘I’ll stop by after work and bring you some stuff if you like?’
I couldn’t help but smile. My assistant sounded so grownup all of a sudden. ‘That would be wonderful, thank you.’
I spent the next couple of hours trying to keep busy, but it was no use. My mind wouldn’t settle. Flicking through magazines, watching random shopping channels on TV and listening to
music all did nothing to help me. I was just contemplating whether to try baking something when I heard a commotion outside. Walking to the window, I saw to my horror a large CBS van parked and a swarm of photographers jostling for prime position on the sidewalk. My mobile started to ring, making me jump.
‘Hello?’
‘Ms. Duncan, this is Dan Donnelly, CBS News. Can you confirm the whereabouts of your brother?’
‘No, I can’t. Leave me alone, please.’
‘Is James Duncan’s behaviour something you condone?’
‘What? No, of course not, I…’
‘Then would it be correct to assume that both you and your family are shocked and disgusted by your brother’s actions?’
Anger was rising steadily within me as I answered. ‘Look, I’ve asked you to leave me alone. Please go away.’ Hands shaking, I snapped my phone shut and stood frozen to the spot. Celia’s door phone began buzzing and someone on the street yelled, ‘There she is! Up there!’ as the crowd below looked up at me and their cameras began flashing wildly. Sinking to the floor by the window, panic gripped every fibre of my being. I was trapped—hemmed in by the waiting mob downstairs. My mobile rang again and I answered it angrily.
‘Just leave me alone! Go away and…’
‘Rosie, honey, it’s me, don’t hang up,’ Celia interjected quickly. ‘I think someone here’s told the press where you are.’
‘They’re already here. I can’t get out.’
‘OK, listen to me. I’ve just spoken to Marnie and we’re going to get you over to her apartment, OK?’
‘Won’t they follow me there?’
‘Trust me, honey, journalists are essentially lazy. They’re not going to bother trying to track down the home addresses of all Kowalski’s staff—it’s too much work and they’re all on short deadlines with this story. I was an easy tip for them. So we’ll get you to Marnie’s and then you can relax a little. Meanwhile, I’m going to find the jerk who ratted on me here and kick his sorry ass all the way to Tennessee.’
Despite feeling scared, I couldn’t help but smile at this. The poor informer’s days were severely numbered with Celia gunning for him. The clamour of voices was growing louder outside. ‘But how am I going to get there without them following me?’
‘Don’t panic, Rosie. This is what we’re going to do…’
An hour later, I was sitting in Marnie’s apartment while my assistant dashed around, making sure I was comfortable, making me spiced chai tea and generally fussing over me.
‘I know I shouldn’t say this, but that was so exciting!’ she beamed as she flopped down onto the orange corduroy sofa beside me. ‘It was like something out of a movie.’
I took a sip of exotically-spiced tea and smiled back. ‘Yes, I have to admit it was a little thrilling.’
Celia’s elaborate plan for sneaking me out of her apartment under the noses of the hacks was worthy of the silver screen. Heaven only knows how she managed to find three sets of workman’s overalls, hard hats and a construction company van at such short notice (with Celia, it’s always better not to ask). Marnie arrived with Sergei, the apartment building’s manager half an hour after Celia’s phone call and both of us changed into the overalls, giggling when we donned the bright yellow hard hats. Then, checking the coast was clear, Sergei led us down a service staircase to the back door, where Chad, one of Celia’s colleagues, was waiting in the van. Emerging onto Celia’s street, we sped past the backs of the waiting journalists whose eyes and lenses were still trained on Celia’s apartment window.
The sense of joy at eluding the press pack was immense—Marnie and I even high-fived in the back of the van as it headed downtown to Marnie’s SoHo home.
Marnie’s apartment was just like her—bright, kooky and kitsch. Flowers were placed in a motley crew of containers, from old cookie tins to flea market glass vases and even an old green Wellington boot in the kitchen window. Rainbowdyed cushions were scattered across the sofa, chairs and stripped wood floor and cosy blankets were stacked in a large white wicker basket underneath an old upright piano by the living room window. Nothing matched, yet all the furniture, picture frames and furnishings seemed to fit perfectly together. Most of all, it was welcoming, something I found incredibly reassuring given the crazy day I was having.
‘I’ll grab some clothes and things for you from your apartment on my way home,’ she said, plonking a stack of magazines on my lap. ‘In the meantime, just make yourself at home and feel free to go out if you want to. Celia says nobody will expect you to be in SoHo, so it’s OK for you to be walking round here.’
After she left to return to the shop, I decided to venture out, borrowing one of Marnie’s impressive collection of colourful felt hats from the old mahogany hat stand by the door just to make me feel safer. Stepping out onto the street, I breathed in the sharp January air and revelled in my freedom.
I spent an hour browsing a second-hand bookstore just down the street, buying a well-worn blue leather bound edition of the Victorian language of flowers and a couple of poetry books, then headed a couple of blocks down to Oscar’s, a small coffee shop in the ground floor of what had once been an old bakery.
The television was on in the corner at one end of the counter as I entered. I chose a table opposite and sat with my back to the screen, reading one of my bookstore purchases whilst listening to the newscaster talking over my shoulder. Unsurprisingly, a discussion about James was in full flow and a representative from the Consulate-General was giving a dispassionate response to questions about the affair.
‘All we will say at this time is that Mr Duncan is in a safe place while we liaise with the federal authorities on his behalf. He is fully co-operating with the investigators and has agreed to remain in New York until such a time as the situation can be satisfactorily resolved.’
‘What can I get ya?’ asked a rotund, balding man who had appeared by my table.
‘Coffee and something to eat—what would you recommend?’
He smiled broadly and leaned against the chair next to mine. ‘Well, let’s see, lady. You want something sweet or savoury? No—wait—don’t tell me. Let me guess.’ He studied my face, one hand on his chin. ‘Now you look to me like you haven’t eaten much today, am I right? Good. So, that means you’ve come to the right place, ‘cos we only do large here. Trust me, I own this place.’ He offered me his hand. ‘Oscar Arrighi.’
‘Rosie—pleased to meet you.’
‘Likewise. So, now we’ve been introduced, we’re family, which means I can share with you my Mama’s secret weapon for combating a bad day. Which, I assume, you’ve had today, am I right?’
I shook my head. ‘You can tell all that just from looking at me?’
Oscar dismissed this with a wave of his hand. ‘It’s all part of the job, Rosie. That and the fact I just saw your picture on TV.’
Panicked, I rose quickly, but Oscar’s large hand rested on my shoulder. ‘Now don’t you go worrying, lady. I won’t tell anyone and none of the dumb schmucks in here will have noticed.’ He indicated the other customers who were all hunched over newspapers or engaged in conversation oblivious to everything else. ‘And I ain’t gonna call the TV station either, so relax, OK? Between you and me, I hate journalists. My cousin Luca got in a little trouble last year and the lousy hacks sat outside my Aunt Isabella’s for three whole weeks. They gave her a hernia what with all the stress they caused. So you’re safe here. What you need is my Mama’s meatball calzone. Trust me, you’ll lose your worries after the first bite. Sound good?’
I smiled up at him. ‘Oscar, that sounds fantastic.’
By the time Marnie arrived home that night, every network was crawling with commentators on my brother’s stupidity. Celia was right, almost every news programme cast James as the evil Englishman, taking advantage of a trusting senator’s wife in order to steal upright American taxpayers’ hard-earned cash. Daily chat shows quickly followed suit and even Letterman joked about it on his Late Show.
/> ‘Y’know, when the President encouraged the Senate to forge closer relationships with the Brits, this wasn’t quite what he had in mind…’
One strange consequence of all the media attention was a sudden upsurge in visitors to Kowalski’s. Ed called me a couple of days after I’d arrived at Marnie’s to report busier trading than we’d ever seen at the shop.
‘I tell you, Rosie, the store’s gone crazy. I mean, forget the Mimi Sutton Effect, this is so much bigger! We did forty percent higher business this week than we did the same time last year.’
I couldn’t believe it. ‘Seriously? I thought all the news stuff and cameras outside the store would put people off.’
‘Are you kidding? This is the Upper West Side, Rosie! You put thirty photographers outside a store and anyone who’s anyone turns up. We had Joan Rivers come in here this morning—Marnie was in bits!’
‘That’s completely barmy!’
‘I know! The best thing is, Rosie, the whole neighbourhood has turned up to support you. Mrs Katzinger was the first one in here when the news broke, worried how you were, and Delores Schuster came by this afternoon. She went outside and gave the photographers a piece of her mind—you should’ve seen it!’
‘That’s so good of her, though.’
‘She did it because you mean a lot to her, Rosie, they all did. I’m pretty sure the hacks will get bored and leave soon. There were less of them this morning and they’re not sticking around as long as they were. Still, while ever you’re on their hit-list, it’s great for Kowalski’s. Notoriety sells in this town, baby!’
I stayed at Marnie’s, safe from the media spotlight, for the next two weeks. While I was frustrated at not being able to go to Kowalski’s, I actually found myself enjoying my enforced holiday. I pottered around the vintage boutiques and arty shops near Marnie’s apartment, caught up on some reading and went to the cinema—something I hadn’t had the time to do for a couple of years. I also spent hours dreaming up new designs, which I shared with Ed on his frequent visits to check on me.
Fairytale of New York Page 28